


butterfly moon

by marzana



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Psychic Abilities, Romance, Spiritual, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marzana/pseuds/marzana
Summary: it was supposed to be easier this time around; but with a connection that runs deeper than either of them can take, it's hard to keep yourself from falling apart.
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Sam Manson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. opening

In her dreams, she's surrounded by colors and she is nothing but _alive_.

She knows herself. The world. Through kaleidoscope vision and the outpouring of love that fills her soul.

But she can still see how broken it's all gotten from here. It was supposed to be good.

Free, happy, and _good_.

And she's always calling out to him. Always saying his name.

All that meets her is silence.


	2. supplications

Her body lulls under the shade while her mind breaks through the haze, like starlight as it comes when you manage to look past a polluted night.

For once, for the first time in too long, she is _calm_ — pacified, because what she sees in her mind's eye sort of makes _sense_ right now. The disconnect between her body and her _self_ never felt so liberating.

But maybe it's 'cause now, she's too tired to fight it. More so than she oughta be. More than she thinks she _deserves_ to be, but that's not what's important right now.

It's the flashes of violet dancing in her vision, with the sharp glow of silver seeming to envelope it. She watches as the colors intertwine and melt together into something soft, pattering against the pages of her book.

And of course, it's gone as soon as it came.

She splays her fingers over the page she had drifted off on, her nails a lilac that she kinda can _not_ stop staring at. Why does she have such good taste in _everything_?

And why is her name being called?

"Hell- _oooooo_. Earth to Sam."

She blinks behind her big black shades and turns her nose up into the air. "That is _Miss Manson_ for you, sir," she says as annoyingly as she can, pretending to fan herself.

She can't be caught slipping again, now, can she?

He rolls his eyes and smirks and yeah, this is _exactly_ why she decided to fuck off into Lala Land.

" _Miss Manson._ Would you be so kind as to 'screen up my back?"

She _actually_ hates the way he speaks sometimes. She pulls her glasses off and adjusts herself in the lounge chair. "Why must you word words so awfully?"

He chuckles. "So you could look at me like _that."_

_He doesn't look cute. No, not at all. He looks totally, completely, absolutely,_ gross.

She feeds herself lies often when it comes to him. But not often enough to _believe_ them, apparently.

She catches his smile twist into something like a frown, and for some reason, her cheeks feel hot. He shakes his head and reaches for the bottle of sunscreen on the table beside her. She can't help but follow him with her eyes, seeing now the beginning of a sunburn over his nose and cheeks.

"Do me the honor?" he says, and just like that, anything that did not feel happy or easy or _right_ walked its ass out the door.

She sighs dramatically and gestures to the edge of the chair as she sits herself down on her knees. "If you insist, _Daniel._ "

She scoots closer to him, until her legs are almost touching his back. She still can't believe she has to _reach_ just to rest a hand on his shoulder, that tall sucker.

"What did I tell you about sunscreen?" she says as she squeezes some into her hand.

"You know that when I see a pool on a hot ass day, I'm gonna jump in."

She rolls her eyes and ignores the way he tenses as she slides her hands over his shoulder blades. "Hmm. So you want a nice second-degree sunburn just like last summer? Actually, you had the lobster look going for ya."

" _Har-har-har._ Thanks for your concern, mom." He turns over his shoulder and no, she does _not_ melt on the inside when he meets her eyes.

"Oh, of _course,_ sweetie!"

She's quick to rub the sunscreen into his lower back before moving up to his shoulders. She literally has to lift herself a bit for it to be comfortable — holy shit, did he become a _giant_ , or is she just short?

"That's your impression of my mom? _Terrible."_

She rubs at the back of his neck and she thinks this is getting to her head because he _leans_ against her and _when was the last time I have touched him for this long?_

Like, it hasn't even been a _minute._ Yet this was sending her _spinning,_ and if the door keeps creaking open, she might not be able to _stop._

_Keep your cool, Sam._

"I'm so sorry. Contrary to what you believe, I actually _can't_ do it all." She rises onto her knees fully and gently tilts his head back. He stares up at her, wide-eyed, his hair pressing against her chest, and she's also wondering when she got so _bold_. "I'm just a girl."

His smile is lazy and sweet. "That, you are."

She tilts her head and smirks, the ends of her hair skirting around his head. "Of course I am. You seem to remember that every once in a while."

Yeah, even though having him this close to her is making her heart flutter and — _did he just come even_ closer? — and have her stomach all wound up in knots, the part of her that barked, that was still _hurt;_ how could it not tumble out of her mouth?

There's a whole damn _lot_ they've left unsaid.

But she's almost grateful when he only crosses his eyes and blows her a nice raspberry.

She rolls her eyes and forces his head forward,

leaning in over his shoulder. "Don't forget your face," she says softly as she sweeps her fingers over the bridge of his nose and out.

"I'm burnt already?"

"Mhm." She brushes her ring fingers over his eyelids and he giggles.

"Why my eyelids?"

"You don't have skin there?"

He chuckles. "Touché."

She wipes her palm on his chin and reaches for the bottle. "Open your hands."

He does as he's told and she squeezes more sunscreen into his palms.

"That wasn't enough?" he asks as she reaches around him and cups his hands with hers, rubbing them together.

"You can't forget the _girls,_ Danny!"

"The g— _oh."_

She laughs way harder than she should as she moves his hands and rubs them on his chest. He snorts in her ear and she giggles into his.

"Hands off my _man!"_

Sam spots Tucker at the far end of the pool, floating on top of a huge swan floatie that yes, he looks _ridiculous_ with.

"Don't worry, babe, I'm _yours,"_ Danny calls to him, and Tucker blows him a kiss back.

She rolls her eyes because that is the only appropriate response when she spends time with these two.

"Make sure you get every inch," she says, beginning to pull away.

He grabs her by her wrists and keeps her arms locked around his shoulders. "Can't you just do it for me?" he practically whines.

And, _oh._ Is she even breathing?

_I would, but I'm not sure that's a good idea._

His brows shoot to his hairline.

"Go tell _babe_ to do it for you," she finally says, almost slipping out of his grasp.

But somewhere down the line, he got a whole lot stronger than her. And that just didn't stop being a thing.

"Let's go to him and ask."

His smirk is so, so _evil_ and he's so _quick_ to drag her up on his back and force her legs around him.

"Danny, let me _down_!"

"Talk nice to me, Sammy," and _oh,_ she's gonna kill him.

She squirms against him but his hold is _tight._ She didn't want to go in the freaking water today! And the asshole _would_ throw her in, he's done it before!

" _Danny!"_ she yells the moment he jumps into the water, attempting to put him in a chokehold, but then she opens her eyes and she's dry.

He turns her around like she weighs nothing, and if _that_ isn't infuriating enough, the shit-eating grin plastered across his face definitely is.

He laughs loud and takes her hips in his hands and _okay maybe that makes me a little less mad, but still!_ and shakes her once he sits her down on the ledge.

"Not funny," she deadpans, crossing her arms.

"You know I had to."

"I mean, do I?" Really, does she know that he just _had_ to throw her into the pool and turn them intangible at the last second? She tries to kick water at him but he catches her ankle and she _hmphs._

"I couldn't ruin your _makeup…_ " he sing-songs, grabbing the ledge on either side of her and getting his face real close to hers.

And with the way he's so relaxed, so _happy —_ in the way that she _needs_ him to be — could she really stay mad at him?

" _Ow!"_ Beside them, Tucker manages to come along and hit his head and they both turn to face him. She points at him and laughs and he flips her off. "Why're you wearing makeup, anyway?"

"'Cause I thought we were gonna go to the movies!"

"Nobody can see you in the dark…"

She lifts her feet and plants them on Danny's chest before pushing him back. Immediately, he grabs her ankles and pulls her dangerously close into falling, to which she gasps and scowls.

She sticks her tongue out at the both of them. "You never know who you're gonna see."

They were supposed to go to the movies tonight, like any other Friday, but Tucker had remembered how the pool in the back of her house had been finished and decided that it would be a better way to spend their time.

Because when did she ever want to stay under the July sun in the middle of a fucking heat wave? She just might be _too_ kind to them.

But now Danny's looking at her funny and she takes it as her cue to stand up. She adjusts her bikini top, an electric kind of purple that she should not have been so excited to put on, and then her skirt, a black beach cover up tied at her waist, embroidered with silver moons and stars.

She meets his eyes, just to check — and yeah. _Yeah,_ he's staring her down with that dumb, lost puppy look of his, and this swell of pride bursts in her chest. She turns before her insecurities could stifle it and finds a plate of fresh fruit and melted chocolate on the table by her chair.

" _Thaaaaanks!"_ she calls to whoever had dropped it off this time. "Do you guys want some?"

She hears the wet sound of his big feet slapping on the ground and she whips back around, hands on her hips. He gives her a sheepish smile and she melts again because today, so far, has been so… normal. And normal is _nice._

His stomach growls loudly. He begins to pat it and points at the plate, his hair a dripping, and unfortunately, endearing mess. "May I?"

It's the first time she lets herself _look_ at him. The way he's a whole head taller than her, how broad his shoulders have gotten. And _god._

His muscles.

_He does this to make me suffer._

She huffs, pushing his hand away and dips a slice of pineapple into the small bowl of chocolate before bringing it close to her mouth. "Give me one good reason why I should let you," she teases, stepping towards him.

"Uhhh… I think you look pretty?" he says, opening his mouth.

She fights — and when she says _fights,_ she _means it —_ the blush that threatens to creep up onto her cheeks and holy _shit_ , she needs to do a better job at getting her shit together if he's gonna start this up with her again.

So, she smirks like that was the answer she was looking for. Like she wasn't mildly panicking at the fact that they're kinda sorta _flirting_ and that it's kinda sorta her fault, and she lets him take a bite of the pineapple.

But of course, he bites the part with most of the chocolate and she's not a gross double-dipper, so she eats the rest and licks the juice that dripped down her hand.

She goes to lick the chocolate off her finger tips but he must be trying to commit homicide today because he gently takes her wrist in his large, cool hand and licks it off himself.

Her lips part as her brain short-circuits. He's looking at her like he can't believe what he just did. But that's always what happens when the door opens, when the window isn't so foggy, and whatever other metaphors for their relationship she could use — they always end up here, and it's _too much._

And _way_ too good.

The butterflies in her belly keep fluttering and they just don't stop. When it comes to him, she doesn't think they ever will.

"What are you," she says weakly, ready to choke on her own breath. "A dog?"

His smile is as weak as her voice. "But dogs can't eat chocolate, Sam."

_Why do you have to say my name like that?_

He shifts, and he might be blushing... but it could also be his sunburn.

"Dead dogs can," and she forces the vigor to return to her.

He matches it and she's relieved. " _Arf arf."_ He sticks his tongue out and pants.

"Can you pass some, _pleaaaase!"_ Tucker yells. "I'm disintegrating under the heat of the _sun…"_

"Get your ass up and get it yourself!" she calls back.

_And quit looking at me like that…_

When she steps away from him, he gently takes her arm and how many times is she going to _feel_ this way today? He barely has a hold on her, but everything about right now is so arresting that she can't help but freeze on the spot.

They shouldn't be here now — they should've been past this. But she can't find anyone or anything to blame and _fix it_ and that's what amplifies the ache in her chest when the reminder stands before her very own eyes.

And then all the time spent wondering and crying and daydreaming, grieving and loving and accepting that this would take _time_ , it settles into her expression and she allows it to

give herself away.

Whether he understands this or not is all on him.

Then his breath hitches and his brows furrow and _maybe he does, maybe for once he won't be so clueless._ "Did you say something?" he says low, his fingers around her arm tighter now. His gaze intent on her lips.

She shakes her head, a weight dragging her chest down. A spark of heat somewhere on her insides, too. He's staring at her mouth and he's leaning _closer._

_Is he going to…?_

He shakes his head almost _violently_ and she jumps in surprise, almost sending the plate flying off the table.

"Oh shit, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you," he says, and yeah, he's _got_ to be blushing now.

She frowns and pulls at her hair. "Uh, are you okay?"

Because any reaction like that from him was never one-off. Never any good.

And he must've gotten better at acting because his face switches up so fast that she barely catches the transition. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Hell yeah, you are," Tucker says, coming up behind him and laying an arm across his shoulders. "Stop talking to my _cutie pie."_

She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. "You can have him."

"He was always mine!"

_That makes one of us._

Danny gives her a look somewhere between concerned and amused. She blinks at him with as much attitude as you can give a blink and hands them the plate of fruit. "Go on, lovebirds. Go feed each other or something equally gross."

Does that make her a hypocrite? I mean, he kind of did it against her will...

"Oh, we _shall._ Wow, this fruit is fresh as hell," Tucker says as he shoves strawberries into his mouth.

But anything else they say, she tunes it out. She's back to reading her book, stretched out under the shade of an umbrella, ignoring the eyes that always take her soul.

_Don't be mad at me._

The thought is so random that she stops and looks past the edges of her book. Like the sound of it echoed from all the way over there, but all she finds is Danny's face.

And it's always him, isn't it?

Her heart is beating too fast, but when he smiles at her, it stops.

They were just getting back on their feet. Things were still a little weird between them, but it's fine. It'll be fine.

They'll make it out fine.

So she calls out to anybody who'll be kind enough to listen.

_Let this summer be good. For all of us._

* * *

She doesn't remember her dream; only the fact that it fills her chest with just about the same amount of terror she has felt for the past way-too-damn-long. Like some sick manifestation of all the stress and fear of junior year.

It's not the first time. But it's the first time she only _feels_ it — and then she feels the vibration of her phone beneath her pillow, and _oh,_ what impeccable timing. Her hands shakes as she she scrambles for it.

She flips it open, anxiety prickling her heart. "Hello?"

" _Sam,"_ he says breathily.

She almost shoots out of bed. "Did something happen?"

"No, no. Nothing. Don't worry. I just…"

She waits patiently for him to speak, holding a hand on her chest and enjoying the relief that always comes with knowing that things aren't fucked up right now.

"Asshole," she says, lacking the passion it deserves _._ "You scared me."

"I know. My bad. Seriously," he chuckles nervously and she can practically see him running a hand through his hair.

She settles back against her headboard. "So what's up?"

"I dunno. Dreams."

She swallows. "Nightmare?"

He sighs heavily. "Yeah. It's stupid."

"How?"

"Like… not that it's _stupid._ I didn't mean to scare you, honest."

She shakes her head. "I believe you, Danny. Talk to me?"

A long stretch of silence follows, and it does absolutely nothing to calm her down again.

"...Danny?"

"Is it okay if I stop by?"

She doesn't trust herself to form words for at least one single minute. Or one single year… _century._

"Or like, we can hang out tomorrow. So I can explain. I'm sorry, I'm just so… I feel _weird,_ Sam. And not in a good way. I think I… I need to see you."

How is she supposed to continue to _breathe_ after hearing that?

"O-okay, if this isn't a good time—"

"Come." She says it plainly, and it's all she can manage, because how can she deny him?

"R-r-really? Are you sure?"

"Come." She looks out her window, collecting herself. "It's okay."

"Be there in ten. Thanks. A lot. See ya."

"See ya," she echoes, and hangs up.

Now her heart's going crazy for a completely different reason. She rushes to the bathroom and checks her breath, fixes her hair, wonders if she looks that disheveled kind of cute that works so effortlessly well on guys. Especially Danny, but screw him. All he does is make her _feel things._

She grabs her boobs over her oversized shirt — would he be able to tell she's not wearing a bra? Would it matter? Does she _really_ care?

"Fuck it," she says to herself in the mirror, shutting the lights and climbing back into bed, where she proceeds to die inside.

Then there's a soft knocking at her window and it's _him,_ and it makes any sense of unease leave her.

She motions for him to come in. He phases through before transforming back, and his nervous stare has the whirring of the air conditioner seem loud in the silence.

"This was stupid," he finally mutters.

She draws her knees to her chest and frowns. "No, of course it's not." This is what they used to do, how could it be stupid?

Especially when he's standing here and she's calm again?

"I, uh… did I say that out loud?" He gulps. "'Cause I don't think I did."

She rolls her eyes and scoots over, pulling the comforter to the side. "I heard words come out of your mouth, Fenton. C'mon," she pats the spot next to her. "Sit."

And hesitantly, he does. He makes his way to the bed and toes off his shoes before sitting beside her, legs long and stretched out. She follows suit, trying not to feel insecure about the fact that she's wearing her pajama shorts tonight.

She gives him the time he needs to get comfortable, to adjust. If there's one thing she's worked on over the years, it's patience. Or at least patience with him.

But that didn't mean she had _a lot_ of it. She tries her best!

"What's up?" she asks gently, watching his expression shift under the softness of the moonlight.

"I wanna go the fuck to sleep," he stares down at his hands, "but I _can't."_

It's strange to be back here, watching him go through yet another sleepless night. What didn't eat at them?

"I can't sleep much either," she says, grabbing at her thighs. "I think I had a nightmare, too. I don't remember it. Just the feeling. Then I woke up to your call."

He snorts. "Saved you once again, Miss Manson."

"You're my hero," she says, folding her hands over her chest.

But one of them doesn't stay long because he's taking her wrist and pulling it into his lap, playing with her fingers, his eyes dazed and so intent on the shape of her nails. "I hope I can be," he mumbles.

"Hey," she shifts closer, immediately giving into the resounding need to comfort him. "You already are."

"This isn't weird for you? That I come by after how long? I shouldn't be doing this to you."

She turns her palm so that it aligns with his, and she tries not to let herself go stiff as he does. "You're not doing anything wrong. I want to be there for you."

His fingers twitch, sliding against the slots between hers. "You should be able to rely on me."

"What? You want me to count on you for _everything?_ " She presses her fingertips to his. "I don't think I can do that. As an independent, intelligent young woman…"

He chuckles, turning to face her, hair falling over his eyes. "Just give me enough for my ego to remain intact."

"I can do that for you."

"Ooo," he raises his brows. "Anything else you can do for me?"

She shoves his shoulder, to which he only laughs. "Everyday, you just have to remind me how _gross_ boys are."

"Who else could do it for you?"

"Tucker."

He gasps. "Take my man's name out of your mouth."

"How're you gonna make me?"

He brushes his nose against hers. "I could think of a few ways."

She rolls her eyes, absolutely failing at holding back a smile. "You're so _annoying._ "

"Hey, you knew what you were gonna get when you told me to come over."

She sighs dramatically. "That, I did."

"How long were you asleep?" he asks, sliding down her bed.

"Couple hours. What time is it anyway?"

"About 3:30."

"Ooo. The witching hour. How _spooky._ "

"Definitely." He fidgets in his spot before reaching around and fluffing the pillow behind him. "Why are rich people pillows so damn weird?"

"You're dangerously close to overstaying your welcome."

He smiles lazily at her, and not for the first time, he looks like a sweet dream. He lays back down and folds his hands over his stomach. "Say the word and I'm out."

But she can't ever, because it's _him._ And finally, _finally_ they could pick up where they left off.

Before things went straight to hell. Before their world was always a second away from falling apart. Before it actually _did._

_Let this be good for us._

"It will be…" he mumbles, resting his head on her shoulder.

She pulls her blanket around them as much as she can before reaching over with the arm pressed to his and gently cupping the side of his face. "Sleepy already?"

"Mhm. You're warm."

She kisses his hair softly. "Sleep."

He drifts off quicker than she expects. As far as she knows, he's been sleeping pretty well recently. But she hadn't asked, afraid he wouldn't tell her the truth.

_What made you wanna come tonight?_

Her hand drops to his stomach. She rests her cheek against his head and focuses on the sound of his light snores.

The world turns slowly around them. He's heavy on her shoulder, but she's always been willing to carry him.

Summer seems to be promising this time around. They'd be fine. They're still looking over their shoulders, but still. _Still._

_Let us have this._

She sinks into her bed, his weight following.

She smiles at the sight of his peace.

_Just once. Just once. Just once._

And maybe, this time, her wish would come true.


End file.
